


Befitting Legacies

by chaineddove



Category: Hikaru no Go
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-04
Updated: 2012-03-04
Packaged: 2017-11-01 03:38:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/351562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaineddove/pseuds/chaineddove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hikaru and Ogata bond. Akira Does Not Get It.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Befitting Legacies

**Author's Note:**

> Written for blind_go Round 6. Oh boy, what else to say... well. I started out trying to hide my style. I ended up with a fic that was too serious and fell terribly flat in all the wrong places. I decided Kuwabara would _not_ approve. My beta was in ruthless agreement - the idea of Akira observing this scene (and yes, for those who wondered, the Akira POV was VERY intentional and the first thing I knew about the fic) could not afford to be wasted on a mediocre story. I scrapped the first draft, forgot about disguising my style, didn't sleep for a week, rewrote the fic lighter and with more undertones, and then tried to hide at the last minute by running it through a British spell-checker. Um. Apparently, that didn't help me hide (but hey, co-writing with someone other than stillskies apparently DID, so whatever). The consensus is that I cannot hide to save my life, but it's okay.
> 
> Also, due to the taxi, in my mind this is irrevocably linked to _To the Rescue_ now. I can't even write a stand-alone fic, God.

It hadn’t really occurred to him that Kuwabara Honinbou had had a family, though he felt foolish now that he thought of it. He supposed it had been something about the combination of the man’s advanced age and his behaviour, better suited to an unruly teenager, that had made the idea unfathomable. He knew, intellectually, that everyone came from something and left something behind, but it was rather hard to imagine a man who went cackling down hallways leaving children and grandchildren as part of his legacy. Still, at least he had had the common sense to keep his mouth shut about it, unlike Shindou, who upon entering the temple had demanded who “those old guys at the front” were, as though it wasn’t painfully obvious by their sombre expressions, black suits, and unfortunate hooked noses. They weren’t that old, besides, Touya had thought, after nudging Shindou painfully in the side to shut him up – maybe several years older than his own father, and the idea that the former Meijin might be getting old was not one he was prepared to deal with, especially here of all places.

Though he had glared witheringly at Shindou, he had to admit to himself that it _was_ a bit startling, all these people who he had never seen crowding into the temple until he felt they were lucky to have any space to breathe at all. Ogata-san’s presence certainly helped with that; no one ever really stood too close to him unless it couldn’t be helped, and although he was barely recognisable, clad entirely in black for the first time in Akira’s memory, people still kept their distance, although in this crowd that translated to something like a few spare centimetres.

Shindou shifted his weight on Akira’s other side, stepping on his foot in the process, Akira glared again, and Shindou said, “What? There’s no _room!_ ” loudly enough that people turned to look curiously at him and Kuwabara’s oldest son gave him a stern stare that clearly said, ‘the least you can do after stripping my father of his title the week before his death is to keep quiet at his wake and not dishonour him by acting like an unworthy child whose suit is two sizes too small.’ Akira kicked Shindou’s shin, nearly upsetting his own balance in the process, because he rather agreed with the man, except perhaps about Shindou’s suit, which he was willing to let go, as he was well aware that it was the only black suit Shindou owned, and he still had the tendency to grow in spurts. Ogata-san caught Akira’s elbow before he could fall, and Shindou glared sullenly back and hissed, “What? There _isn’t_.”

“I don’t know why I thought I could take you out in public,” was Akira’s equally hissed reply. He looked straight ahead as the priest made his appearance, ignoring the jab in the ribs he received from Shindou. The priest began to chant a sutra, and Akira attempted to clear his mind of irritation and focus his thoughts instead on the deceased. Not that he had known Kuwabara particularly well, but he was here as his father’s representative (as well as Shindou’s baby-sitter), not to mention that anyone who had suffered a humiliating defeat at the man’s hands – and he had, twice – could deny having learned a great deal from him. 

Finding his company pleasant was another matter, of course, and Akira could admit to himself that he hadn’t, but that had nothing to do with anything. He might have thought Shindou hadn’t liked him either, with the way he had carried on – he had had a lot to say about how he was going to crush, pulverise, and generally destroy his opponent before every single one of the Honinbou title matches he had played over the last months – but he had looked so sad and bereft upon hearing of the former Honinbou’s death that Akira had revised his opinion. Shindou’s mind, after all, worked in mysterious ways.

As if to prove his point, there was a loud sniff from Shindou’s direction. Akira was all set to elbow him again when he realized Shindou was actually _crying_ and trying valiantly to keep his tears back, which was a bit bizarre but not out of place, considering this was a funeral. Of course, if Shindou completely lost it and started wailing – not that Akira had ever seen him do anything of the sort, but the next sniff was louder and harder to ignore – they would once again be the centre of attention and most certainly end up all over the next edition of Go Weekly. Because Amano-san was already eyeing them from three rows away with something like speculation, Akira forwent reaching out to squeeze Shindou’s hand. That was a photo opportunity he preferred to pass on.

The priest kept chanting, Shindou kept sniffling, and Akira kept trying to focus his mind on thoughts appropriate to the occasion. Of course, when he chanced to look away from Shindou, who was being thoroughly distracting, and beheld a single tear making its way down Ogata-san’s cheek, completely at odds with his stoic facial expression, the only things he could focus on were completely sacrilegious. Shindou was one thing, but really, Ogata-san crying was basically the harbinger of the end of the world, and the terrifying mental image of Kuwabara’s spirit floating over their heads and cackling insanely at the sight of it was now not going away no matter how hard Akira tried to make it do so. Remembering the adage about desperate times and the measures that applied, he began counting the priest’s breaths, placing one stone per phrase in a mental game against himself in a desperate attempt to make his disobedient imagination _shut up_ so that he could get through the afternoon without thoroughly disgracing himself by earning a reputation for laughing at funerals.

••••

Despite Akira’s fervent hope that he might be able to excuse himself three hours and two mental games later, Ogata-san made a comment about going to get a drink instead of imposing on the family of the deceased further the moment they had stepped out of the overheated temple into the cool autumn evening. To Akira’s shock – one had to be completely blind not to notice Shindou tended to avoid Ogata-san as though he were a carrier of some fatal disease – Shindou gave the older man a puffy, red-eyed glance which took in the two or three tear tracks on his cheeks, and with a shrug said, “Yeah, okay, why not.” At that point, of course, Akira had nothing to do but follow mutely along, so flabbergasted by the fact that Shindou and Ogata-san agreed on something that no appropriate excuse came to mind.

They ended up in a bar Akira knew quite well, inasmuch as he had had to haul Shindou out of it by his shirt collar the night he won his Honinbou title. That had been a thoroughly bizarre night too, as he recalled, what with Kuwabara dumping his entire goke on the board in surrender, forgoing the game discussion entirely, and dragging Shindou away to some undisclosed location with one of his infamous cackles, stating only that “the young Honinbou” needed to celebrate properly. It had taken Akira several hours to track them down to this seedy bar, and by that time Shindou had been wobbling drunkenly on his bar stool and laughing uproariously right along with the man who he had just defeated about something Akira couldn’t decipher. He had topped off this performance by falling asleep in the taxi and drooling all over Akira’s shoulder on the way home.

Barely a week later, Shindou was well on his way to the same incoherent state, and Ogata-san wasn’t that far behind. At Ogata-san’s urging, Akira had taken a sake cup, but despite the fact that it was comfortingly hot going down, after a single sip he had switched to mineral water, realizing that someone probably had to stay sober enough to know what addresses to give to the taxi driver at the end of the night. Besides, he had never been one for alcohol and the bitter aftertaste it left behind. He had opted for the role of spectator instead – it was eerily fascinating to watch Ogata-san slam back shot after shot of hard liquor without wincing. More and more often lately the thought had come unbidden that it was amazing that he had idolised Ogata-san as a child. It was actually pretty impressive he had turned out the way he had, considering.

Shindou was now on his third beer – Ogata-san had made a comment about training wheels when he had ordered the first – and already looking a bit bleary. Akira happened to know that Shindou wasn’t a habitually heavy drinker, the night he had won his title notwithstanding, and he hoped this wasn’t the beginning of a bad habit. How long did it take, anyway? Ogata-san lit a cigarette and Akira was silently relieved when Shindou didn’t ask for one of those, too.

“I won the first game, right? And then during our second match, man, he basically tried to psyche me out by asking me over and over if I had sealed my move correctly. And then when that obviously wasn’t working, because what kind of idiot falls for that anyway?” Ogata-san gave Shindou an upset sort of look – upset for Ogata-san, in any case. Akira doubted Shindou would have identified it as such even if he were sober, which it was clear he wasn’t as he took a loud gulp of beer and shook his head. “I swear he must have paid off the people in the room next to mine to play this horrible Chinese opera at top volume all night, seriously. My walls were shaking and I thought my windows were going to shatter on the high notes. I didn’t sleep at _all_. Then the next day he kept commenting how I had circles under my eyes and how young men really need to get more rest. I think I almost fell asleep in chuban. I could totally have won that one otherwise. I can barely remember what I played.”

“Chinese opera, hmm?” Ogata-san asked, still looking inexplicably peeved. He took a long drag of his cigarette and followed that up with another shot of sake. “Not bad. He picked rap for me.”

“Rap would have been fine,” Shindou said waving his hand dismissively. “I can sleep through rap okay. But those _high notes_. They were like… pure evil.”

While it was completely normal to reminisce after a wake, Akira rather thought this wasn’t exactly the way to go about it. He was pretty sure badmouthing the deceased was in bad taste. “Shindou,” he interjected cautiously, “I’m sure he didn’t mean…”

“He did,” Shindou and Ogata-san assured him in uncanny unison. Shindou blinked, as surprised as Akira, then laughed. “Crazy times. Hey, can I get another beer?”

“You don’t need another one,” Akira attempted.

“He needs another one,” Ogata-san disagreed. He nodded to the young man wiping the table next to theirs, who turned to go behind the bar to retrieve it. Akira found he couldn’t argue with that. “He certainly got worse with age,” Ogata-san commented, snuffing out his cigarette and lighting a fresh one a moment later. “Probably getting senile.”

“Yeah, I kind of thought that too,” Shindou agreed. His beer arrived and he took another drink before continuing. “Especially when he pulled the cheap tricks and… you know. The cackling and weird comments. But then he played these insanely complex hands, you know, and you totally forgot he was supposed to be senile. And then when I won, he was like… the proudest anyone’s ever been of me… almost. Like I passed some sort of test everyone expected me to fail or something.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Ogata-san said, his small smile disappearing.

Shindou studied him in a way that almost implied sympathy. “Guess not. It was pretty cool, anyway.” He lifted his bottle and said, “So I guess, here’s to the old man and all his crazy stupid scare tactics and stuff.”

Ogata-san lifted his cup in acknowledgement of the garbled toast, then took a swallow of sake. “Did you know,” he said, blowing out a puff of smoke, “he threatened to haunt me once.” He took another sip of his sake, examined his empty cup with something like surprise, and added, “Crazy old bastard,” for emphasis, though he looked a little as though he wouldn’t mind being haunted. 

Shindou laughed so hard that he nearly toppled to the floor, and everyone in the bar turned to stare at them, three men in funeral black sharing what was clearly a really good joke. Touya thanked whatever deity happened to be listening that no one else he knew would ever come here and Amano-san and company hadn’t discovered this bar yet. He grabbed Shindou’s beer bottle before he could knock it to the floor. “Oh god,” Shindou said through chortles of laughter, “oh god, no, seriously? God that would be so awful I can’t even tell you, I mean, being haunted by someone like _that?_ ”

“It isn’t like I would notice,” Ogata-san said bitterly as Akira helped Shindou back into his seat. He put out yet another cigarette, eyed his cup one more time, and made a vague gesture towards the busboy that Akira took to mean he wanted more sake. Akira could hardly believe the large bottle he had ordered was already empty.

“Oh man,” Shindou said, wiping at his eyes. “Man, you have no idea.”

“I suppose you do?” Ogata-san asked acidly, then busied himself with the new sake bottle which had been set in front of him.

“Right, well, anyway,” Shindou said with a nervous laugh and snatched the bottle back from Akira to gulp down the last of his beer. “He warned me you were going to gnash your teeth after my title a lot and try to scare it away from me, but you know, compared to him, you’re really not that scary.”

“Insolent boy,” Ogata-san glowered. “It’s not worth taking it away from you. I’d have preferred taking it from him. Damn codger.”

“Yeah, well,” Shindou said. “You can’t.”

“Shindou!” Akira gasped, appalled at his abruptness.

“No,” Ogata said shortly, ignoring Akira’s exclamation and looking directly at Shindou. “I can’t.”

Shindou met his eyes, then looked at his own empty beer bottle, reached over to Akira’s half-full sake cup, and gulped it down. His eyes were watering as he set it back on the table with a clatter. “That is so disgusting,” he said, then, “God, he’s actually dead.”

“He is,” Ogata-san agreed. He reached over and refilled the cup Shindou had stolen from Akira, then his own.

They clinked the cups together, spilling a few drops messily onto the tabletop, then drank in unison. “This sucks,” Shindou said.

“That’s life,” Ogata-san said, but he didn’t sound nearly as terse as he had a few moments ago. 

“Yeah, well, life sucks.”

Ogata-san smiled slightly. “Exactly my point.”

“Guess death sucks too,” Shindou said philosophically.

“I’m sure we’ll find out eventually,” Ogata-san shrugged.

“If he was watching that from somewhere,” Shindou said quietly after a moment, “I bet he was laughing his ass off.” Akira thought of the image that hadn’t left him alone throughout the entire service, the one of Kuwabara laughing madly at the proceedings, and had to admit he agreed with the sentiment. “I mean,” Shindou continued, “I kind of hope, anyway. It was so completely…” he waved his arms vaguely, unable to put his thought into words.

“Yes,” Ogata-san agreed, surprisingly willing to be mystical though usually Shindou went off on these sorts of tangents alone. “It was, wasn’t it?” The two of them looked at each other in perfect understanding. Akira had the bizarre sensation of intruding on some secret bonding ritual.

Shindou was the first to look away. Because he seemed like he might take it into his mind to resume the waterworks, Akira warned, “Shindou, if you cry again, I’m going to leave you here.”

The threat was an empty one, as he doubted he’d really be able to walk out on them, but fortunately it was enough to get Shindou moving. “It’s okay,” he said. “I was done anyway.” He began clumsily turning out his pockets in the search for his wallet.

“It’s on me,” Ogata-san said, pulling a few distressingly large bills from his billfold.

••••

“He’s not so bad,” Shindou said a few minutes later, after Akira had made their excuses, looped Shindou’s arm over his shoulder, and dragged him out onto the sidewalk to wait for a taxi. Ogata-san had managed to stumble outside on his own and collapse into the first cab that came by, which was fortunate, as Akira was having a hard enough time supporting just Shindou. He was fairly sure he’d have gone down under Ogata-san’s weight.

“You sound like you’ve had a revelation,” Akira told him dryly. “I’ve been telling you that for years. I’m so glad you’re finally listening.”

“Well yeah, but I mean like… he’s actually okay, I guess,” Shindou said. “Except when he’s being totally creepy. Kind of like sake, which is completely gross but kind of okay too, once you’ve had time to, I don’t know, get used to it or something. You know?”

“Your oxymoronic logic never ceases to amaze me,” Akira said as a car pulled up to the curb. “If you’ve decided you’re going to set your childishness aside and be friends, that’s nice, but please never get used to sake, I don’t think I could take it. Get in the car.”

“But man,” Shindou continued after Akira had finished giving their address to the driver. “That really sucks. I mean really sucks. You’ve got to kind of feel sorry for him. You can tell he feels like shit.”

“We’ll see who you feel sorry for when you’re emptying your stomach tomorrow morning,” Akira told him mercilessly, but didn’t protest Shindou’s head lolling on his shoulder, though he was certain he’d end up with drool on his suit – again.

“We’re lucky, you know?” Shindou said.

“Yes, yes,” Akira said patting Shindou’s head appeasingly.

“Don’t go anywhere,” Shindou murmured sleepily.

“Not like I could, considering you’re sitting on my arm,” Akira told him. “Just don’t throw up when we round a corner this time. And don’t drool on me like last time, or you can ride the rest of the way on the floor.”

“Didn’t,” was Shindou’s predictable response. Moments later, he was snoring lightly against Akira’s shoulder, a little pool of saliva already forming at the corner of his mouth. Akira studied him, noting that he was smiling, just a little, and felt himself relax as he realized that everything was going to be all right. Maybe it was okay not to think of anything (except possibly the logistics of getting Shindou up four flights of stairs) and just close his eyes for a little while.


End file.
